Review: Shamus Dust by Janet Roger

The plaudits Janet Roger’s Shamus Dust have received are well-deserved, not the least of which are its world-building of 1947 London, classical noir chops, excellent plotting, sly class observations, and admixture of American and British voices. But unlike some reviewers and readers, this writer loves beautifully deployed language, by which I mean breezy yet eloquent, poetically rhythmic and wielded with strong command. Think Cole Porter.

Shamus Dust is, among many other things, a noir murder mystery with more than a hat-tip to classic Chandler—more a deep curtsy—yet a testimonial to the saw, “all stories have been told, different only in the manner by which they are told.”

“The silhouette of a single-engine Lysander skimmed a fret of trees, silent as a gull clipping wavetops, crossed the Oxford road close to stalling and floated weightless out of a sky dripping starlight. It yawed and dipped over a frozen swell of Quonset huts at the airfield perimeter, adjusted its trim and for a long moment let you hear the whisper of its motor, then glided in over a curling ground mist. It kissed the strip twice lightly…”

As we might say in the States, does that put you in the scene or what? It’s an example of writerliness that for me, renders story telling in a strong voice and with deftness. Some readers may prefer crime writing in thriller style—spare, a lot of white space to the page and the forward motion of a dragster, a la Elmore Leonard. Some say of literary writing that not much happens but there’s a lot going on. Shamus Dust gives you both the beauty of language as well as forward motion, maybe not a Ferarri that gets you there fast, but sure-footed and elegant, a well-crafted vehicle beautiful to be in and gets you there just the same.

Who inspires you most?

As originally appeared on the blog, Locks, Hooks & Books on January 14, 2020


This is the simplest question yet the most perplexing. I really needed to sit back and think about it. My answer: No one person, but artists in general. They are people dedicated, indeed compelled, to sift their experience through their aspiration for beauty and wisdom, reconfigure physical stuff or words or images or other display in astonishing ways, and present it to the world. Though undervalued, at least in our society, it is their imagination, their selfless persistence that makes our lives worth living. It is not merely “entertainment” (though it can be that), it is wisdom presented in an aesthetic way, a uniquely human search for beauty that informs us all as to what and how we should be and relate to the world. Art, is, indeed, the highest parts of ourselves.

My long-time mate is an accomplished painter, currently interested in ceramics (she likes to paint “big” and her house can’t accommodate the size canvasses she prefers.) As a mostly abstract painter, it came as no surprise to see her ceramics work: no pots or dishes for her, rather strange configurations of multiple hands clasping, or a forest of sticks the size of rulers all glazed differently, some like twisted pretzels ascending out of a base like frozen, colored lightning strikes. Who thinks that way? Who looks at lumps of clay and sees those shapes? But her work meets my simple definition of art: if you want to keep looking at it, hearing it, or reading it and it resonates with both mind and heart, it’s art.

As a writer, to be sure, good story-telling demands a mastery of craft; yet, sometimes after writing a sentence or paragraph, I revel in front of my keyboard that in the entire history of people on earth, nobody, not once, ever, configured that sequence of words or images or rhythm as I just did.

So yeah, art. It inspires me. And the people who do it are gifts to my life.

Writing Love and Sex Scenes in Crime Novels

This essay first appeared on the blog, The Phantom Paragrapher on January 13, 2020.


Who cannot be aware of the well-deserved ruckus concerning cultural appropriation? It is no longer acceptable to ape features or stereotypes of another gender, race, ethnicity, or any demographic we do not personally occupy. Each such group in its own way has been culturally, economically, or otherwise deprived, and now demands its place in the sun.

What is the fiction writer to do? We create all kinds of characters, and though it is wise to consider submitting certain of our work to “sensitivity readers,” some of us are loath to do that for a variety of reasons, mine being I don’t want anybody besides a professional editor telling me how to write. Yet, there is peril.

My own response is to write characters within the confines of universal responses and feelings. It’s safe to say we all feel threatened when our lives are in danger or to be robbed; or we all want our children to do well; or we want earn a good living, be independent, etc. Eighty percent of what we are is universally shared. But there also are responses to events or images or representations unique to certain classes of people different from the one I occupy.

Take women. I as a man don’t know the kind of vulnerability women must feel knowing that half of the world’s population could physically overpower them if it wanted and not constrained; or as a black person what it’s like to be followed around a store on the assumption I am suspect, as they commonly experience. So, of course there are matters which groups are sensitive to and must be respected in our depictions.

The once-rigid silos our respective groups occupied have evolved into cyclone fences: They still contain us but make us more visible to one another. If I as a white male write a female character through the sole prism of my masculinity, I may distort the presentation of her, whereupon my story’s verisimilitude for female readers goes poof. On the other hand, I can no more suspend my male-ness and have every right to possess and express it as she her female-ness. Nor do I want to try to become female. I couldn’t do it with any honesty. The obvious answer is to hear her hopes, fears, aspirations and respect them and her. On the other hand, what do I, as a male writer, do with the bad boy-as-lust-object phenomenon which makes no damned sense to me? Writing sex is no less complicated than real life sex.

Then how do I write a heterosexual love scene? Submit it to a female sensitivity reader to make sure I got her part right? What then happens to the exquisite dance of fantasy, power, control and submission integral to real life sex? In real life, those things get acted out in subtle ways which sexual partners make known and accede to, even crave. When asked if sex was dirty, Woody Allen said, “If you’re doing it right.” What does that mean to a woman? Sex at midnight on the Spanish Steps in Rome? And when? Always? Sometimes? What does it mean to men? Silly costumes?

Death in the Family contains three passages involving sex. Each is different. One is a power play; one is lovemaking; one is lustful. The story is written in the first person, its protagonist, Donny Lentini. In writing each scene I was ultimately guided by the scene’s purpose and motivations of the couple. I was also aware that just as there is no one way to do sex, there is no one way to write it. Further, I gave up on the idea that anything I’ve read or heard or discussed about women’s sexuality and constellation of feelings surrounding love, lust, and sex would enable me to, as Woody Allen suggested, do it right. I had no choice but to write those scenes as a man and hope that my deep respect for women and Donny’s respect and need and love for Pepper would render the writing true. I also can’t deny, it was kicks writing them. You don’t write a scene without visualizing the action and breaking it down second by second and act by act as if under a strobe light.

In my novel, I Detest All My Sins, the sex was not between two consenting lovers, but violent, perverse, controlling, unwanted, and by a despicable character written for the reader to hate. It is a case in point regarding my argument about (some) sensitivity readers. Bad guy Deadly Eddie Matthews takes a woman captive and sexually abuses her. Although thoroughly distasteful, it was written to establish a moral lesson concerning justice, power, and righteous vengeance. In many ways, writing wrong sex is easier than writing right sex. In that book, the female character metes out vengeance in an especially delicious way.

And a final consideration: No two people are alike and they change from moment to moment, depending on the stimulus. Life is dynamic that way. A sex scene in a crime novel is a snapshot of two characters under specific circumstances in a particular moment in time.

If the writer’s heart and mind are in the right place to begin with, he is much more apt to get the scene right.

Confetti #10

These are FB posts of mine from various threads. They are, in effect, little mini essays in response to what the thread presented. Though they are also self-contained thoughts.

Contrary to the assertion that addiction is correlated to intelligence, in fact the unintelligent part of it is failure to recognize that every second spent drunk or high sabotages the mechanisms & strategies needed to cope with life’s vicissitudes. Nor is insight into the vagaries or unfairness of society restricted to the cognoscenti. It takes humility to understand the hazards & seductiveness of addiction’s escapism. But humility is strength, while the belief that addictiveness is the province of the “intelligent” is arrogant & sure to continue it’s grip.
I know. I’ve been in both places.

Confetti #9

These are FB posts of mine from various threads. They are, in effect, little mini essays in response to what the thread presented. Though they are also self-contained thoughts.

I get that on occasion too. I “use the language,” meaning my speaking (and writing) vocabulary tends to be more wide-ranging than what people are used to hearing. I’ve been accused of carrying a thesaurus around. I refuse to accept I use any words not generally understood, nor will I pander to some inchoate, populist demand to sound like a regular guy. Some people can shoot a smooth jump shot; I can speak well. Deal with it.

Confetti #8

These are FB posts of mine from various threads. They are, in effect, little mini essays in response to what the thread presented. Though they are also self-contained thoughts.

Dale, very thoughtful sentiments. But I think they leave a factor out of the equation (with which you may disagree.) It is this: men & women are different. We may share many traits common to both, but many are different. Nor would I stereotype & my comments are intended to generalize. Of course there outliers in any effort to talk about gender traits; nor would I argue nature vs. nurture. Given those caveats, my point nevertheless is that, 1) differences are real; & 2) they are internalized by we as individuals as well as by culture. Can a particular female character be a leader, strong, tough, etc? Of course, just as a male character be the opposite of those things. Yet, IMO, women tend to be strong & tough in different ways than men, & express leadership in different ways, & while such differences should be honored, it is a mistake to depict them in ways more characteristic of men. In that sense, many roles are not interchangeable, & to try to make them so will not sit right with the gender being aped or the gender aping. In other words, the reaction will be, “A woman wouldn’t do that…” Ditto males. Matters of style, temperament, risk-taking, goals, hierarchy, etc. tend to express differently as between men & women. So in our zeal to create equality, let’s not throw the baby out w/ the bathwater. Or am I wrong?

Confetti #7

These are FB posts of mine from various threads. They are, in effect, little mini essays in response to what the thread presented. Though they are also self-contained thoughts.

There is a deep satisfaction in knowing we have strung together words that may comprise thoughts, evoke feelings, or present images in such a way that has never been done before in the entire history of mankind, and told a story that elucidates the human experience in an aesthetically satisfying way. If that ain’t art, nothing is. BTW, we can’t not do it.

Confetti #6

These are FB posts of mine from various threads. They are, in effect, little mini essays in response to what the thread presented. Though they are also self-contained thoughts.

LaSasha, I do understand the rationale, but as a writer (& person) not given to stereotyping, as well as a writer whose own experiences & impressions are no less valuable than the characters I write, there is no way I’m gonna ask anybody’s affirmation for what I present. But in fairness to your p.o.v. on the subject, it is true that many do not share my fair-minded heart, & who arrogantly believe they can write of other cultures yet rely on stereotypes which could be taken as insulting. Finally, 2 more things: 1) when I write a character outside of my own direct life experience, I am writing about THAT character, not his/her group; 2) IMO, about 80% of life experience is shared by ALL people, no matter race, class, gender, sexual preference, etc., e.g., despair, joy, love, hate, tribalism, etc. So when writing a character of a group different from mine, I try to keep stuff w/in that 80%.

Confetti #5

These are FB posts of mine from various threads. They are, in effect, little mini essays in response to what the thread presented. Though they are also self-contained thoughts.

I just returned from the Creatures, Crimes & Creativity Conference (C3) where I connected with many of my favorite writer colleagues. While conferences provide many practical benefits, as did C3 and its fabulous crew, most writers would agree the best part about them is after the business day, convening over a few pops, trading stories. What causes the magnificent glow almost universally felt from these sessions? At the risk of undermining my thinly disguised but carefully cultivated macho-guy persona, I will say it: The L-word. Love. Rapport among people who make art, who are so compelled we don’t know how NOT to do it. Artists whose canvas is stories and the alphabet their brushes. People of vivid imagination, highly articulate people, deeply caring people, mostly seriously educated people, soldiers constantly battling rejection yet silly enough to awake in the middle of the night over an adjective or image. We struggle to do what we do; we struggle to become better and better. We find deep meaning in our creative endeavors. Non-writers, non-artists, have no idea how difficult making art is, how much time it takes and the investment of energy and mind-expansion required to do it well. But we know it. We all share it. It’s never overtly said, this L-word. Instead the glasses clink, the stories fly and we retire for the evening happily entertained, grateful for the bonhomie of such gifted people & their stimulating conversation in an uncommonly non-hierarchical setting. So, many won’t say it, but I’ll say it: I L-word you guys.

Confetti #4

These are FB posts of mine from various threads. They are, in effect, little mini essays in response to what the thread presented. Though they are also self-contained thoughts.

Perhaps by self-appointed literary cognoscenti, but to assume any kind of bright line between genre & literary is intellectual malpractice. At their extremes, you can say literary is where not much happens but a lot goes on, and genre as evoking the question: what happens next? The reading experience is broad, and joy, pleasure, intellectual satisfaction, thrills, profundity, etc. do not exist in a hierarchy.