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Every Dead Thing: A Charlie Parker Thriller (1) Mass Market Paperback – July 1, 2000
Former NYPD detective Charlie "Bird" Parker is on the verge of madness. Tortured by the unsolved slayings of his wife and young daughter, he is a man consumed by guilt, regret, and the desire for revenge. When his former partner asks him to track down a missing girl, Parker finds himself drawn into a world beyond his imagining: a world where thirty-year-old killings remain shrouded in fear and lies, a world where the ghosts of the dead torment the living, a world haunted by the murderer responsible for the deaths in his family—a serial killer who uses the human body to create works of art and takes faces as his prize. But the search awakens buried instincts in Parker: instincts for survival, for compassion, for love, and, ultimately, for killing.
Aided by a beautiful young psychologist and a pair of bickering career criminals, Parker becomes the bait in a trap set in the humid bayous of Louisiana, a trap that threatens the lives of everyone in its reach. Driven by visions of the dead and the voice of an old black psychic who met a terrible end, Parker must seek a final, brutal confrontation with a murderer who has moved beyond all notions of humanity, who has set out to create a hell on earth: the serial killer known only as the Traveling Man.
In the tradition of classic American detective fiction, Every Dead Thing is a tense, richly plotted thriller, filled with memorable characters and gripping action. It is also a profoundly moving novel, concerned with the nature of loyalty, love, and forgiveness. Lyrical and terrifying, it is an ambitious debut, triumphantly realized.
- Print length467 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherPocket Books
- Publication dateJuly 1, 2000
- Dimensions4.19 x 1.1 x 6.75 inches
- ISBN-109780671027315
- ISBN-13978-0671027315
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Editorial Reviews
Review
Jeffery Deaver author of The Devil's Teardrop Stunning...Every Dead Thing ensnares us in its very first pages and speeds us through a harrowing plot to a riveting climax. I'm already impatient for Bird's next appearance.
Publisher's Weekly [A] darkly ingenious debut novel.
The Saturday Times (London) Every Dead Thing is intelligent, deep, and literate, and it is difficult to believe that this is John Connolly's first novel, so confident is the writing...Buy it and be scared.
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The waitress was in her fifties, dressed in a tight black miniskirt, white blouse, and black high heels. Parts of her spilled out of every item of clothing she wore, making her look like she had swollen mysteriously sometime between dressing and arriving for work. She called me "darlin'" each time she filled my coffee cup. She didn't say anything else, which was fine by me.
I had been sitting at the window for over ninety minutes now, watching the brownstone across the street, and the waitress must have been wondering exactly how long I was planning to stay and if I was ever going to pay the check. Outside, the streets of Astoria buzzed with bargain hunters. I had even read the New York Times from start to finish without nodding off in between as I passed the time waiting for Fat Ollie Watts to emerge from hiding. My patience was wearing thin.
In moments of weakness, I sometimes considered ditching the New York Times on weekdays and limiting my purchase to the Sunday edition, when I could at least justify buying it on the grounds of bulk. The other option was to begin reading the Post, although then I'd have to start clipping coupons and walking to the store in my bedroom slippers.
Maybe in reacting so badly to the Times that morning I was simply killing the messenger. It had been announced that Hansel McGee, a state Supreme Court judge and, according to some, one of the worst judges in New York, was retiring in December and might be nominated to the board of the city's Health and Hospitals Corporation.
Even seeing McGee's name in print made me ill. In the 1980s, he had presided over the case of a woman who had been raped when she was nine years old by a fifty-four-year-old man named James Johnson, an attendant in Pelham Bay Park who had convictions for robbery, assault, and rape.
McGee overturned a jury award to the woman of $3.5 million with the following words: "An innocent child was heinously raped for no reason at all; yet that is one of the risks of living in a modern society." At the time, his judgment had seemed callous and an absurd justification for overturning the ruling. Now, seeing his name before me again after what had happened to my family, his views seemed so much more abhorrent, a symptom of the collapse of goodness in the face of evil.
Erasing McGee from my mind, I folded the newspaper neatly, tapped a number on my cell phone, and turned my eyes to an upper window of the slightly run-down apartment building opposite. The phone was picked up after three rings and a woman's voice whispered a cautious hello. It had the sound of cigarettes and booze to it, like a bar door scraping across a dusty floor.
"Tell your fat asshole boyfriend that I'm on my way to pick him up and he'd better not make me chase him," I told her. "I'm real tired and I don't plan on running around in this heat." Succinct, that was me. I hung up, left five dollars on the table, and stepped out onto the street to wait for Fat Ollie Watts to panic.
The city was in the middle of a hot, humid summer spell, which was due to end the following day with the arrival of thunderstorms and rain. Currently, it was hot enough to allow for T-shirts, chinos, and overpriced sunglasses, or, if you were unlucky enough to be holding down a responsible job, hot enough to make you sweat like a pig under your suit as soon as you left the a/c behind. There wasn't even a gust of wind to rearrange the heat.
Two days earlier, a solitary desk fan had struggled to make an impact on the sluggish warmth in the Brooklyn Heights office of Benny Low. Through an open window I could hear Arabic being spoken on Atlantic Avenue and I could smell the cooking scents coming from the Moroccan Star, half a block away. Benny was a minor-league bail bondsman who had banked on Fat Ollie staying put until his trial. The fact that he had misjudged Fat Ollie's faith in the justice system was one reason why Benny continued to remain a minor-league bondsman.
The money being offered on Fat Ollie Watts was reasonable, and there were things living on the bottom of ponds that were smarter than most bail jumpers. There was a fifty-thousand-dollar bond on Fat Ollie, the result of a misunderstanding between Ollie and the forces of law and order over the precise ownership of a 1993 Chevy Beretta, a 1990 Mercedes 300 SE, and a number of well-appointed sport utility vehicles, all of which had come into Ollie's possession by illegal means.
Fat Ollie's day started to go downhill when an eagle-eyed patrolman familiar with Ollie's reputation as something less than a shining light in the darkness of a lawless world spotted the Chevy under a tarpaulin and called for a check on the plates. They were false and Ollie was raided, arrested, and questioned. He kept his mouth shut but packed a bag and headed for the hills as soon as he made bail, in an effort to avoid further questions about who had placed the cars in his care. That source was reputed to be Salvatore "Sonny" Ferrera, the son of a prominent capo. There had been rumors lately that relations between father and son had deteriorated in recent weeks, but nobody was saying why.
"Fuckin' goomba stuff," as Benny Low had put it that day in his office.
"Anything to do with Fat Ollie?"
"Fuck do I know? You want to call Ferrera and ask?"
I looked at Benny Low. He was completely bald and had been since his early twenties, as far as I knew. His glabrous skull glistened with tiny beads of perspiration. His cheeks were ruddy and flesh hung from his chin and jowls like melted wax. His tiny office, located above a halal store, smelled of sweat and mold. I wasn't even sure why I had said I would take the job. I had money -- insurance money, money from the sale of the house, money from what had once been a shared account, even some cash from my retirement fund -- and Benny Low's money wasn't going to make me any happier. Maybe Fat Ollie was just something to do.
Benny Low swallowed once, loudly. "What? Why are you lookin' at me like that?"
"You know me, Benny, don't you?"
"Fuck does that mean? Course I know you. You want a reference? What?" He laughed halfheartedly, spreading his pudgy hands wide as if in supplication. "What?" he said again. His voice faltered, and for the first time, he actually looked scared. I knew that people had been talking about me in the months since the deaths, talking about things I had done, things I might have done. The look in Benny Low's eyes told me that he had heard about them too and believed that they could be true.
Something about Fat Ollie's flight just didn't sit right. It wouldn't be the first time that Ollie had faced a judge on a stolen vehicles rap, although the suspected connection to the Ferreras had forced the bond up on this occasion. Ollie had a good lawyer to rely on; otherwise his only connection to the automobile industry would have come from making license plates on Rikers Island. There was no particular reason for Ollie to run, and no reason why he would risk his life by fingering Sonny over something like this.
"Nothing, Benny. It's nothing. You hear anything else, you tell me."
"Sure, sure," said Benny, relaxing again. "You'll be the first to know."
As I left his office, I heard him mutter under his breath. I couldn't be sure what he said but I knew what it sounded like. It sounded like Benny Low had just called me a killer like my father.
It had taken me most of the next day to locate Ollie's current squeeze through some judicious questioning, and another fifty minutes that morning to determine if Ollie was with her through the simple expedient of calling the local Thai food joints and asking them if they had made any deliveries to the address in the last week.
Ollie was a Thai food freak and, like most skips, stuck to his habits even while on the run. People don't change very much, which usually makes the dumb ones easy to find. They take out subscriptions to the same magazines, eat in the same places, drink the same beers, call the same women, sleep with the same men. After I threatened to call the health inspectors, an Oriental roach motel called the Bangkok Sun House confirmed deliveries to one Monica Mulrane at an address in Astoria, leading to coffee, the New York Times, and a phone call to wake Ollie up.
True to form and dim as a ten-watt bulb, Ollie opened the door of 2317 about four minutes after my call, stuck his head out, and then commenced an awkward, shambling run down the steps toward the sidewalk. He was an absurd figure, strands of hair slicked across his bald pate, the elasticated waistband of his tan pants stretched across a stomach of awesome size. Monica Mulrane must have loved him a whole lot to stay with him, because he didn't have money and he sure as hell didn't have looks. It was strange, but I kind of liked Fat Ollie Watts.
He had just set foot on the sidewalk when a jogger wearing a gray sweat suit with the hood pulled up appeared at the corner, ran up to Ollie, and pumped three shots into him from a silenced pistol. Ollie's white shirt was suddenly polka-dotted with red and he folded to the ground. The jogger, left-handed, stood over him and shot him once more in the head.
Someone screamed and I saw a brunette, presumably the by now recently bereaved Monica Mulrane, pause at the door of her apartment block before she ran to the sidewalk to kneel beside Ollie, passing her hands over his bald, bloodied head and crying. The jogger was already backing off, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a fighter waiting for the bell. Then he stopped, returned, and fired a single shot into the top of the woman's head. She folded over the body of Ollie Watts, her back shielding his head. Bystanders were already running for cover behind cars, into stores, and the cars on the street ground to a halt.
I was almost across the street, my Smith & Wesson in my hand, when the jogger ran. He kept his head down and moved fast, the gun still held in his left hand. Even though he wore black gloves, he hadn't dropped the gun at the scene. Either the gun was distinctive or the shooter was dumb. I was banking on the second option.
I was gaining on him when a black Chevy Caprice with tinted windows screeched out from a side street and stood waiting for him. If I didn't shoot, he was going to get away. If I did shoot, there would be hell to pay with the cops. I made my choice. He had almost reached the Chevy when I squeezed off two shots, one hitting the door of the car and the second tearing a bloody hole in the right arm of the jogger's top. He spun, firing two wild shots in my direction as he did so, and I could see his eyes were wide and ultrabright. The killer was wired.
As he turned toward the Chevy it sped away, the driver spooked by my shots, leaving Fat Ollie's killer stranded. He fired off another shot, which shattered the window of the car to my left. I could hear people screaming and, in the distance, the wail of approaching sirens.
The jogger sprinted toward an alley, glancing over his shoulder at the sound of my shoes hammering on the road behind him. As I made the corner a bullet whined off the wall above me, peppering me with pieces of concrete. I looked up to see the jogger moving beyond the midpoint of the alley, staying close to the wall. If he got around the corner at the end, I would lose him in the crowds.
The gap at the end of the alley was, briefly, clear of people. I decided to risk the shot. The sun was behind me as I straightened, firing twice in quick succession. I was vaguely aware of people at either side of me scattering like pigeons from a stone as the jogger's right shoulder arched back with the impact of one of my shots. I shouted at him to drop the piece but he turned awkwardly, his left hand bringing the gun up. Slightly off balance, I fired two more shots from around twenty feet. His left knee exploded as one of the hollow points connected, and he collapsed against the wall of the alley, his pistol skidding harmlessly away toward some trash cans and black bags.
As I closed on him I could see he was ashen faced, his mouth twisted in pain and his left hand gripping the air around his shattered knee without actually touching the wound. Yet his eyes were still bright and I thought I heard him giggle as he pushed himself from the wall and tried to hop away on his good leg. I was maybe fifteen feet from him when his giggles were drowned by the sound of brakes squealing in front of him. I looked up to see the black Chevy blocking the end of the alley, the window on its passenger side down, and then the darkness within was broken by a single muzzle flash.
Fat Ollie's killer bucked and fell forward on the ground. He spasmed once and I could see a red stain spreading across the back of his top. There was a second shot, the back of his head blew a geyser of blood in the air and his face banged once on the filthy concrete of the alley. I was already making for the cover of the trash cans when a bullet whacked into the brickwork above my head, showering me with dust and literally boring a hole through the wall. Then the window of the Chevy roiled up and the car shot off to the east.
I ran to where the jogger lay. Blood flowed from the wounds in his body, creating a dark red shadow on the ground. The sirens were close now and I could see onlookers gathered in the sunlight, watching me as I stood over the body.
The patrol car pulled up minutes later. I already had my hands in the air and my gun on the ground before me, my permit beside it. Fat Ollie's killer was lying at my feet, blood now pooled around his head and linked to the red tide that was congealing slowly in the alley's central gutter. One patrolman kept me covered while his partner patted me down, with more force than was strictly necessary, against the wall. The cop patting me down was young, perhaps no more than twenty-three or twenty-four, and cocky as hell.
"Shit, we got Wyatt Earp here, Sam," he said. "Shootin' it out like it was High Noon."
"Wyatt Earp wasn't in High Noon," I corrected him, as his partner checked my ID. The cop punched me hard in the kidneys in response and I fell to my knees. I heard more sirens nearby, including the tell-tale whine of an ambulance.
"You're a funny guy, hotshot," said the young cop. "Why'd you shoot him?"
"You weren't around," I replied, my teeth gritted in pain. "If you'd been here I'd have shot you instead."
He was just about to cuff me when a voice I recognized said: "Put it away, Harley." I looked over my shoulder at his partner, Sam Rees. I recognized him from my days on the force and he recognized me. I don't think he liked what he saw.
"He used to be a cop. Leave him be."
And then the three of us waited in silence until the others joined us.
Two more blue-and-whites arrived before a mud brown Nova dumped a figure in plain clothes on the curb. I looked up to see Walter Cole walking toward me. I hadn't seen him in almost six months, not since his promotion to lieutenant. He was wearing a long brown leather coat, incongruous in the heat. "Ollie Watts?" he said, indicating the shooter with an inclination of his head. I nodded.
He left me alone for a time as he spoke with uniformed cops and detectives from the local precinct. I noticed that he was sweating heavily in his coat.
"You can come in my car," he said when he eventually returned, eyeing the cop called Harley with ill-concealed distaste. He motioned some more detectives toward him and made some final comments in quiet, measured tones before waving me toward the Nova.
"Nice coat," I said appreciatively as we walked to his car. "How many girls you got in your stable?"
Walter's eyes glinted briefly. "Lee gave me this coat for my birthday. Why do you think I'm wearing it in this goddamned heat? You fire any shots?"
"A couple."
"You do know that there are laws against discharging firearms in public places, don't you?"
"I know that but I'm not sure about the guy dead on the ground back there. I'm not sure that the guy who shot him knows either. Maybe you could try a poster campaign."
"Very funny. Now get in the car."
I did as he said and we pulled away from the curb, the onlookers gaping curiously at us as we headed off through the crowded streets.
Copyright © 1999 by John Connolly
Product details
- ASIN : 067102731X
- Publisher : Pocket Books; First Edition (July 1, 2000)
- Language : English
- Mass Market Paperback : 467 pages
- ISBN-10 : 9780671027315
- ISBN-13 : 978-0671027315
- Item Weight : 8.2 ounces
- Dimensions : 4.19 x 1.1 x 6.75 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #1,398,015 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #1,825 in Ghost Thrillers
- #6,280 in Ghost Mysteries
- #54,910 in Suspense Thrillers
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
I was born in Dublin, Ireland in 1968 and have, at various points in his life, worked as a journalist, a barman, a local government official, a waiter and a "gofer" at Harrods department store in London. I studied English in Trinity College, Dublin and journalism at Dublin City University, subsequently spending five years working as a freelance journalist for The Irish Times newspaper, to which I continue to contribute, although not as often as I would like. I still try to interview a few authors every year, mainly writers whose work I like, although I've occasionally interviewed people for the paper simply because I thought they might be quirky or interesting. All of those interviews have been posted to my website, http://www.johnconnollybooks.com.
I was working as a journalist when I began work on my first novel. Like a lot of journalists, I think I entered the trade because I loved to write, and it was one of the few ways I thought I could be paid to do what I loved. But there is a difference between being a writer and a journalist, and I was certainly a poorer journalist than I am a writer (and I make no great claims for myself in either field.) I got quite frustrated with journalism, which probably gave me the impetus to start work on the novel. That book, Every Dead Thing, took about five years to write and was eventually published in 1999. It introduced the character of Charlie Parker, a former policeman hunting the killer of his wife and daughter. Dark Hollow, the second Parker novel, followed in 2000. The third Parker novel, The Killing Kind, was published in 2001, with The White Road following in 2002. In 2003, I published my fifth novel - and first stand-alone book - Bad Men. In 2004, Nocturnes, a collection of novellas and short stories, was added to the list, and 2005 marked the publication of the fifth Charlie Parker novel, The Black Angel. In 2006, The Book of Lost Things, my first non-mystery novel, was published.
Charlie Parker has since appeared in five additional novels: The Unquiet, The Reapers (where he plays a secondary role to his associates, Louis and Angel), The Lovers, The Whisperers, and The Burning Soul. The eleventh Charlie Parker novel, The Wrath of Angels, will be available in the UK in August 2012 and in the US in January 2013.
The Gates launched the Samuel Johnson series for younger readers in 2009, followed by Hell's Bells (UK)/The Infernals (US) in 2011. A third Samuel Johnson novel should be finished in 2013.
I am also the co-editor, with fellow author Declan Burke, of Books to Die For, an anthology of essays from the world's top crime writers in response to the question, "Which book should all lovers of crime fiction read before they die?" Books to Die For is available in the UK as of August 2012, and will be available in the US in October 2012.
I am based in Dublin but divide my time between my native city and the United States, where each of my novels has been set.
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Learn more how customers reviews work on AmazonCustomers say
Customers find the book compelling and interesting. They appreciate the suspenseful plot and imaginative storytelling. The characters are well-developed and engaging. Readers praise the writing style as captivating and skillful. However, some felt the story lacked interest and was uninteresting.
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Customers enjoy the book's suspense and thrills. They find the characters appealing and the plot fascinating with a supernatural twist. The author is described as a master of this specific kind of crime fiction, with excellent settings and imagination. While the mystery is not impossible to figure out, the tension and suspense remain throughout.
"...The book is stunning. It is very visual. The writing is, at times, almost poetic, especially when describing the condition of the murdered people...." Read more
"...Nuanced as few, creating a main character and a tale not rivaled by more than a few of this author's highest peers in the world of Noir." Read more
"...I also found the Louisiana background interesting and interestingly ominous...." Read more
"...A little over-descriptive in some places for sure, and a little heavy on exposition sometimes, but overall, I thought it was well-written...." Read more
Customers find the book engaging and entertaining. They describe the story as fascinating, enticing, and well-written. Readers also mention that the book is an introductory novel in the series.
"...It is compelling and eminently readable. I did nothing for two and a half days but read it. I even put off lunch on the second day...." Read more
"...The book was good up until all fuss over olden times and moral make up. I am reading more of Connolly, does he change or improve?..." Read more
"...That being said, I still managed to enjoy the book, albeit with many an eye-roll and a chortle...." Read more
"...Overall, a good read, and the best thriller I've read in a while." Read more
Customers find the story engaging and well-written. They praise the author's storytelling abilities and lyrical writing style. The plot is complex but keeps readers hooked with its clever storytelling. Overall, customers describe the book as an interesting read that keeps them guessing until the end.
"...The book is stunning. It is very visual. The writing is, at times, almost poetic, especially when describing the condition of the murdered people...." Read more
"...This love story is well written but the differences between Wolfe and Parker are also being developed, as well as the nonsense coming from the study..." Read more
"Almost organic in its own, this novel blends a thousand interspersed stories into its body...." Read more
"...I'm surprised by those who have said the writing was bad -- I thought the writing was quite good...." Read more
Customers find the characters interesting and well-developed. They appreciate the character paintings and relationships between them. The main character Birdman is liked for his observations and realness.
"...Nuanced as few, creating a main character and a tale not rivaled by more than a few of this author's highest peers in the world of Noir." Read more
"...Although the ideas for some of the (many, many) characters are interesting, their motivations remain shadowy and are only superficially dealt with...." Read more
"...As a warning, it is somewhat violent. Yet the characters are fully formed. I love Connolly's writing. It is beautiful and lyrical...." Read more
"...the high cards over Parker, and his lack of success due to the weak character, she can not stnd all the killing, being forced to kill to save Parker...." Read more
Customers enjoy the author's writing style. They find it masterful, philosophical, and well-researched. The author has a unique voice and does extensive research for his books.
"...new novelist, he shows up out of nowhere as a fully developed, lavishly gifted writer...." Read more
"...I believe that he is a spellbinding writer and has distinguished himself as a unique voice...." Read more
"...Yet the characters are fully formed. I love Connolly's writing. It is beautiful and lyrical...." Read more
"...A sign of a truly great writer." Read more
Customers have differing views on the gore content. Some find it shocking and disturbing, with evocative descriptions of crimes. Others feel the violence is excessive and the number of killings excessive.
"...the superstitious element I found ludicrous, but the over-the-top number of gory killings and frankly hilarious gang shoot-outs...." Read more
"...Likewise, the amazingly violent, gory, disgusting, depressing, sickening, and frightening crimes depicted in this story repel the reader, but they..." Read more
"...As many others have noted, this book is not for the faint of heart. There is plenty of gore, explained in great detail...." Read more
"...Read quickly and quirkoily. Enjoyed the page turner pace and the underlying suggestion of supernatural underpinnings, maybe?..." Read more
Customers have mixed opinions about the pacing of the book. Some find it fast-paced and engaging, saying they can't stop reading once they start. Others feel the book slows down at times and takes a while to get going. They also mention difficulty keeping track of all the characters and deciphering the timeline.
"...While there is some darkness in TBOLT, it's a total departure from Every Dead Thing. But I digress...." Read more
"...I had some trouble deciphering the timeline; I think part of it may been a formatting issue in the Kindle version...." Read more
"This is the third time I have read EVERY DEAD THING and I enjoyed it as much, possibly more, than I did on the previous two occasions...." Read more
"...All this detail we didn't need and only serves to slow down the book - facts that have absolutely nothing to do with the book, but just serve to..." Read more
Customers find the book boring, frustrating, and uninteresting. They mention that the violence is unnecessary and depressing. Some readers also say the book is confusing and hard to finish.
"...Really? In combination, I found the book a frustrating read...." Read more
"...Likewise, the amazingly violent, gory, disgusting, depressing, sickening, and frightening crimes depicted in this story repel the reader, but they..." Read more
"...It was confusing. Then the first story ended and it picked up with another story...." Read more
"...and giving TONS and TONS of information that made no sense and was so boring. The two big plot points could have been done in 50 pages. UGH" Read more
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A little bit of Ireland in New England
Top reviews from the United States
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- Reviewed in the United States on September 13, 2016Lots and Lots of Dead Things
By Bob Gelms
In the last issue I wrote about the 14th and latest Charlie Parker thriller by the great Irish writer John Connolly. I mentioned that if you hadn’t read any previous Charlie Parker books this one was a hum-dinger, but it would be well worth your time to go back to the first book in the series and give it a try.
Every Dead Thing is the first Charlie Parker thriller and there are a few things that amazed me. I should say that I read it when it first came out about 16 years ago and read it again a few weeks ago. The re-read confirmed all of the elements that impressed me when I read it the first time.
The book is stunning. It is very visual. The writing is, at times, almost poetic, especially when describing the condition of the murdered people. Mr. Connolly burst on the scene with this, his first novel, while he made his daily living as a writer for the Irish Times in Dublin, Ireland. Unusual for a new novelist, he shows up out of nowhere as a fully developed, lavishly gifted writer. In the same vein, all his characters, most notably Charley Parker, jump off the page as living breathing people. Sometimes I got the feeling I knew somebody like them. The book is so vivid and well written that I forgot very little in the 16 years that passed between my first and second read.
Parker tracks down two serial killers. They are the most heinous killers I’ve ever read about. I will tell you that if you made it through any of Thomas Harris’ Hannibal Lecter books you should be able to get through Every Dead Thing, even on a full stomach. It is compelling and eminently readable. I did nothing for two and a half days but read it. I even put off lunch on the second day.
Just prior to the opening, Parker and his wife have a bad argument. He’s already half in the bag so he leaves and walks to the neighborhood tavern where he really ties one on. The drinking was getting to be a problem even at work. He’s a detectivefor the New York City Police Department. He weaves his way back home and there he discovers the thing that nightmares are made of. His wife and daughter have been brutally murdered by what, on first blush, looks to be a deranged, twisted psycho killer.
Parker continues with the booze and starts to have mental problems brought on by guilt driven remorse. He finally loses his job and becomes sort of a private detective without a license. One of his police buddies throws him some work. It’s a missing persons case. He takes the job thinking he could use some cash to go after his family’s killer and gets clean knowing he will need all of his finely tuned faculties to catch the guy.
The missing person is Catherine Demeter. It is in the simple act of looking for her that he uncovers some very disturbing evidence which puts Parker on the hunt for a serial killer. His investigation takes him south to Virginia and ultimately to Louisiana where he gets a tip from an old woman who “sees” things. She hints about Demeter and then tells Parker that the man who killed his family has a name. He calls himself the Traveling Man and he is close by.
Parker wraps up the first case and it makes headlines all over the country. He heads to the swampland of the Bayou to look for the Traveling Man. Mutilated bodies start showing up and Parker knows that the Traveling Man knows he is looking for him. That’s when Parker calls in the cavalry.
These two friends are sometimes on the wrong side of the law. Parker has helped them out of a few jams so they are returning the favor. Louis and Angel are two gay guys who happen to be partners. They live on adrenaline. They can become very lethal when needed. They are almost fearless. They are killers. They are a hit and show up in subsequent Parker thrillers.
This part of the novel is electric with live current on every page. Echo’s of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett will softly come to mind. Parker reaches into his soul and sees that he too can become a killer for revenge protected somewhat by the law. Is Charlie Parker entirely a good guy? You’ll have to answer that for yourself. Every Dead Thing is one of the finest novels I have read in the last 16 years. Don’t miss it.
- Reviewed in the United States on May 20, 2012I found this book to be several books rolled into one, First the emphasis was on all the action taking place in New York City. This is book one, with Charlie, "Bird" Parker tightly bound in the search for the killer of his wife and daughter with several side plots going on as well, such as the search for a missing woman, the search for other murders exhibiting similar modus operandi to Parker's family, and as a third book the tying together of everything else after the first two have reached a certain element of conclusion, although not conclusion itself, that will be the end of the book. The end of book one occurs at chapter thirty-one and Parker's departure for New Orleans. The break was clean, Paker becomes unconscious and we start the next chapter with Parker restored to consciousness and on a plane. Connolly gives us a brief summary to bring us up to date and almost wipe the slate clean of what has gone before. We are on a new search and the death of his family has sunk to an easy neglect.
We are being introduced to Louisiana and its customs. A new book, almost a new story. New people have taken over the starring roles and we want to find them or find out about them,what has happened to them. We are also introduced to the gangs around New Orleans, somewhat of how they operate and what they traffic in and the racial divide. It is almost completely divorced from book one, the ties being the connection between the characters, living and dead, and how Parker struggles to establish himself with them, a short run but essential to the story, at the same time kept short to prevent having otherwise to write perhaps more than a thousand pages. It is in here that Parker and Rachel Wolfe begin to close in on each other. This love story is well written but the differences between Wolfe and Parker are also being developed, as well as the nonsense coming from the study of the killer of Parker's family and both its precursors and the study of medieval art which also displays drawings of eviscerated as well as flayed people posed as Parker's wife and daughter had been. Is this meaningful. Is it meaningful to the characters in the book? How and why? Or is it left to the reader?
We are near the end now. We are in the final book three. I thought it was all a bunch of dirty words now, forget this "meaningful" discourse over medieval anatomy, and get into Parker's finding of his opponent, the almost obligatory sequence of events, with the villain obtaining the high cards over Parker, and his lack of success due to the weak character, she can not stnd all the killing, being forced to kill to save Parker. How many other books end this same way? It is a poor ending to suffer with all the other books with the same type ending. The book was good up until all fuss over olden times and moral make up. I am reading more of Connolly, does he change or improve? I hope to let you know.
- Reviewed in the United States on December 21, 2024Almost organic in its own, this novel blends a thousand interspersed stories into its body. Nuanced as few, creating a main character and a tale not rivaled by more than a few of this author's highest peers in the world of Noir.
- Reviewed in the United States on May 9, 2016I was a little disappointed with this book, as I had heard great things about this series and was hoping to discover a new favourite. I find it hard to unearth new crime writers whose style and characterisation is as good as that of authors like PD James. The narrator is your typical traumatised and maverick ex-cop with dark family history etc. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't the superstitious element I found ludicrous, but the over-the-top number of gory killings and frankly hilarious gang shoot-outs. Although the ideas for some of the (many, many) characters are interesting, their motivations remain shadowy and are only superficially dealt with. In the end, so many characters end up dying and being flayed that it becomes easy to spot the raving lunatic. That being said, I still managed to enjoy the book, albeit with many an eye-roll and a chortle. I also found the Louisiana background interesting and interestingly ominous.
All in all, my personal preference is for less bloody books with more in-depth characterisation. If you are into psychopaths with vague and unexplained pseudo-existential motivations for their killing sprees, then this book is for you. It is eminently suitable as an airplane book, but I don't think I will be reading more of Connolly's work.
- Reviewed in the United States on December 24, 2024The book is just like brand new!
Top reviews from other countries
- Patricia RobinsonReviewed in Canada on June 8, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars a lesson for life
This is a difficult book to read in that it has so much violence and pain. But it is real! Life is very difficult it tells me! And don’t let down your guard. We know right from wrong instinctively so try to do what is right and good.
The author is a poet!
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JLTRAVAReviewed in Mexico on June 4, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars Every dead thing
Tenía rato que no leía una novela tan sangrienta. Los crímenes que relata son inenarrables. Sin embargo, resulta muy interesante y emocionante. Yo creo que lo que sucede es una consecuencia de lo que comenta: “We’re practically livin’ on top of each other but we’re further away from each other spiritually, socially, morally, than we’ve ever been before.”
Impresionante…!!!!!
- Excellent service from Amazon, yet to charge and fit the lights, some decorative work first.Reviewed in the United Kingdom on November 20, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars The start of a long incredible reading journey.
Have read this book many times, this I.s a gift for me son at Christmas.
- MaarüReviewed in France on May 26, 2021
5.0 out of 5 stars Great book, great delivery
Great book, was delivered to me in under a week ( I'm in France and it came from Britain)
I bought the brooched edition, nothing to complain about
John connnoly's first book is a very strange one, both structure wise and theme wise but it is a very good introduction the the Charlie Parker series
Both a mystery and an horror/supernatural book
- Rick AllanReviewed in Australia on December 27, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars Fantastic!
I have all of John Connolly's books.
'nuff said?