Thanks for this review. I always love Joyce Carol Oates’s books and hope my readers will too.
The Crime Fiction Writer's Blog
Jack of Spades by Joyce Carol Oates
Pub Date: May 5, 2015
Jack of Spades is a quirky and wonderfully written psychological thriller by one of America’s greatest storytellers. Andrew Rush is a best selling author and enjoys all the trappings that go along with his achievements. But he also writes very dark and disturbing fiction under the pseudonym “Jack of Spades.” But is Andy really Andrew or is he Jack? The lines are blurred and when he is sued for plagiarism by a local woman, who herself is an odd character, the pressure mounts and Andrew begins behaving oddly himself. His external struggles with family and friends pale in comparison to his percolating internal struggles. This story will grab you quickly and not let go.
View original post
Village House of Books
Bigfoot, the Baby, and Bona Fide Books
by Ann Gelder
Last summer, I took part in a panel called “Breakthrough Novelists” at Litquake Palo Alto. Even before the event began, it became clear that “breakthrough” meant something different for each of us. Another panelist was Edan Lepucki, whose new book, California, had rocketed up the best-seller list upon Stephen Colbert’s enthusiastic endorsement. The other two, Stuart Rojstaczer and Christina Nichols, had published debut novels with large-to-midsize presses. Whereas my first novel, Bigfoot and the Baby, had been gently ushered into existence by Bona Fide Books—a newish, very small press in South Lake Tahoe. My book was certainly a breakthrough for me, but for the rest of the literary world, not so much.
Yet I like to think that during this very panel, I created a breakthrough moment for at least a few audience members. During the Q and…
View original post 488 more words
Saints and Skeletons
I returned my attention to the present and the ribbon of tar, at times barely a car width, which wound higher into the Oaxacan mountains. The afternoon air became crisp and fresh. Astringent scents of mountain pine and wood smoke swirled through our open windows. In places the mist hung heavy in the trees. Adobe huts gave way to wooden cottages that were scattered farther and farther from their neighbors. The spectacular scenery unfolded as we rounded each bend. Fresh water streams spilled over tumbled stones and fell down steep cliffs, disappearing into fern-lined canyons. In sunny pockets, brilliant red, yellow and orange flowers crowded against the dark forest. The people we saw wore woolen clothes and hats, stout boots, and thick woven shawls to protect against the chilling dampness of the shadows. We shivered in shorts and sandals.
“I’m cold,” I said. “Let’s stop for some lunch and change…
View original post 493 more words